Crowley fought the temptation to walk over to the doorway and stick his toe just a tiny bit over the threshold, just to spite the angel. Better not to get on Aziraphale's bad side so early into the trip, he reminded himself — there was no telling how long they'd be stuck on this boat together, and he didn't much fancy being tossed to the waves.
His serpentine eyes quickly adjusted to the shadow that retook the room after the angel's departure, and he gave his surroundings a more thorough inspection. There wasn't much to see: some sacks and barrels piled up in one corner, a wooden chest, the chair Aziraphale had been sitting on, and a narrow, straw-stuffed mattress. If he wanted to be optimistic, he'd call the place cozy; if he wanted to be accurate, cramped.
To stifle the claustrophobia rising in his stomach, he sauntered over to the chest and lifted its lid. If he had to take a wild guess about what was inside…bingo. Stacks of clay tablets, etched with wedge-like glyphs. He knew that this new human invention was the angel's greatest weakness, so it was no surprise that Aziraphale had rescued some reading material from the flood.
Crowley took a moment to pity the sons or grandsons of Noah who had been tasked with lugging this heavy chest on board.
This finding was hardly useful to the demon — he had begun to learn how to read quite some time back, when writing had first been invented in Sumer, but humans would not stop messing with the symbols, and they changed too quickly for him to keep up with. Thus, he could make out some words here and there on the tablets, but not enough to provide him with any real entertainment. What the hell was he supposed to do cooped up in here for who knew how long?
Well, he knew what he would do for now, at least. Supernatural being or no, his back was killing him — that flight had been the most arduous of his lives. Plus, he still felt somewhat nauseous as he adjusted to being around holy objects again. Retracting his wings, which were simply too big for these cramped quarters, he threw himself onto the mattress in the corner, tugged a blanket up over his head, and promptly fell asleep.
He awoke to his forearms burning.
Eyes snapping open, heart racing, he took in the plump, blue-glowing hands gripping his arms just in time to be dumped onto the floor.
"You dare occupy the bed of a Servant of God, demon?" Aziraphale's voice rang with heavenly wrath. The angel's form was haloed in blue light, which Crowley thought was a bit much, personally.
"I was tired, and you weren't using it," Crowley responded coolly. He rubbed at his wrists, which were slightly singed by their contact with heavenly essence. "Do you even sleep?"
Bafflement crossed Aziraphale's face, then a scowl came and camped there. He did not seem to appreciate the demon's blasé response, but Crowley had decided he would not allow his counterpart to intimidate him.
"Brazen creature," Aziraphale glowered, but it was more like a pout. The blue halo flickered out.
"Look, if we're going to do this, you're going to have to lay off the divine fury, okay?" Crowley said. "I've already given you my word—"
"Ah, yes, the word of a demon," Aziraphale snapped; "how very trustworthy." Crowley paused for an instant to marvel at the fact that the angel had just used sarcasm, then blazed on as if he hadn't heard the interruption.
"—my word that I'm not going to interfere with the humans, but you can't expect me to stand in a corner and do literally nothing for the duration of the flood. If you're going to keep me stuck in here, at least let me have free rein of the room."
Aziraphale considered this. "Fine," he conceded. "You can have the bed. You're right, I don't sleep — virtue never sleeps." This last sentence sounded like a warning.
"Noted," Crowley said, and then asked the question he'd been dreading hearing the answer to: "Do you…have you been filled in on how long this flood is going to last, exactly?" Is it ever going to end? a voice in his head added, but he refused to consider that possibility.
"No — er, I mean, that's not for you to know," the angel replied. "I can say it is going to be some time, by human standards — but not so long for us."
So the angel wasn't receiving much more information from his superiors than Crowley was from his. That was something, at least. "So, it is going to end at some point, at least."
"Yes."
Crowley released his breath. "Good."
A handful of days crawled by, which Crowley ticked off on the wood wall with a nail (a human would quickly have lost track of day and night within the closed capsule of the ark, but as a supernatural being, he could sense the rising and setting of the sun). He spent most of the long hours sleeping fitfully, unaccustomed to the tossing of the waves far below him and unable to fully stifle the ever-creeping claustrophobia. Aziraphale was out of the room most of the time, off with the humans or taking care of the animals or reading in some nook that wasn't occupied by a demon, Crowley supposed. This frequent absence was for the best: whenever the angel dropped by, he always seemed to find something to quarrel about.
"What do you think you're doing?" Crowley jumped at the sudden voice, almost dropping the tablet in his hands. "Those are valuable, I don't want you handling them."
"If you don't want them broken, don't startle the guy holding them," Crowley suggested, annoyed. "I don't see what the problem is — is reading a virtue or something?"
"Just put it back."
"You promised me free rein of the room, angel. Are you going to go back on your word?"
Crowley watched with no small amusement as a vein ticked in Aziraphale's forehead. "Fine. But if you so much as chip one, I shall — "
"I know, I know, throw me out into the flood. That threat is getting old, Aziraphale."
Crowley regretted his flippant words as soon as they'd escaped his mouth: the angel's face became hard as stone.
"Do you take my threats lightly, serpent?" Aziraphale demanded, closing the distance between them with several strides. Crowley stood up quickly from where he knelt before the chest, not wanting to have the lower ground if this was about to develop into a battle.
"Of coursssse not," he assured his counterpart, "I know you mean it, Aziraphale — I jussst — hey!" The angel had lifted his arm to strike. Crowley instinctively raised his hands, still clutching the tablet, to defend his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the blow.
When he opened them again, Aziraphale had dropped his arm to his side.
"I have been uncivil," he said, looking aghast at the tablet he'd almost struck; "forgive me."
"A demon, forgive an angel?" Crowley blurted before he could think to keep his mouth shut.
"It is merely a turn of phrase," came the icy reply.
"Right," Crowley agreed quickly. He wracked his brains for a way to diffuse the situation. "Hey, you…you can read pretty well, can't you?"
Aziraphale gazed at him coldly.
"Silly question, obviously — what I meant was, since we're stuck here for a while…if you wanted to teach me a bit, I'd be game."
Aziraphale continued to stare at the demon, but with an expression Crowley could not read.
"Only if you want to, of course — I mean, I doubt you want to," he corrected himself, "but — if you get really bored, maybe."
At long last, the angel answered. "Perhaps."
Crowley let out a long breath. "Cool. Great. So…how are the humans doing?"
Later, after Aziraphale had left again, Crowley sat cross-legged on the mattress, picking at the straw.
He toppled backwards as a muted red glow filled the room, accompanied by the buzzing of flies.
"CROWLEY." Beelzebub's voice emanated from everywhere and nowhere.
"My lord!" Crowley responded, "what a…pleasure."
"I'M SURE."
"Could you maybe…keep your voice down? Lord?" Surely the whole ark could hear this booming voice — all he needed was Aziraphale to come running.
"I WILL CHOOSE TO IGNORE THAT, CROWLEY. ANYWAY. WE HAVE BEEN SURPRISED TO NOTE THAT YOU HAVE NOT REAPPEARED IN HELL YET. WE THOUGHT FOR SURE YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DISCORPORATED BY NOW…ARE HUMAN FORMS LESS VULNERABLE TO WATER THAN YOU HAVE LED US TO BELIEVE?"
So the bastards knew about the flood, and hadn't thought to warn him, or check up on him, or something. Not that he really wanted them checking up on him, ever, but still.
"I'm on an ark, my lord." A pause. "That's a big boat."
"AH. WITH THE LAST OF THE HUMANS, I TAKE IT?"
"Yes." And an angel, but he wasn't about to mention that. They'd order him to kill Aziraphale if they knew.
"EXCELLENT. THIS CAN WORK TO OUR ADVANTAGE QUITE NICELY."
"Er…how do you mean?" Crowley did not like where this conversation was going. He rarely did, when Beelzebub's disembodied voice dropped by for a chat.
"THINK, CROWLEY. THE LAST OF THE HUMANS, SAVED FOR THEIR PIETY — IF YOU CAN CORRUPT THEM, IT WILL BE A HARD BLOW FOR HEAVEN…AND A FINE COMMENDATION FOR YOU."
He'd figured that the Prince of Hell would say something like that. "Yes, my Lord. Except…"
"EXCEPT WHAT, CROWLEY?" The displeasure that buzzed through Beelzebub's voice was unmistakable.
"Except nothing, my lord, nothing!" Crowley scrambled. "It just may take a while — Noah being such a pious man, and all. But don't worry, I'll get it done."
"SEE THAT YOU DO, CROWLEY. I'LL LEAVE YOU TO IMAGINE THE CONSEQUENCES OF FAILURE."
The red glow faded, leaving Crowley alone again. He was, indeed, imagining what Hell would do to him if he failed to corrupt Noah and his family.
But he was also imagining what Aziraphale would do to him if he succeeded.